


Don't You Get It?

by ancilla89



Series: Learning to Live Again [1]
Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancilla89/pseuds/ancilla89
Summary: I’ve compressed two scenes of Season 8, Episode 1 so they happen one right after the other: Danny storming out of Dr. Dawson’s office after yelling “Don’t you get it? The house was my fault, the fire was my fault, and Linda was my fault!” and Henry telling Frank that Danny “came in the front door and went straight upstairs. No dinner, no chitchat, no nothing.”
Series: Learning to Live Again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114742
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	Don't You Get It?

He stormed inside without a word to his grandfather, lumbered up the stairs, shoved a chair under the door of his childhood bedroom.

No one understood. All Doc did was try to talk him out of thinking it was his fault. His dad thought he understood, because he’d lost his wife, too. The boys…they’d be better off without him.

He pulled his weapon from its holster.

He shouldn’t have come home.

He should have gone to the cemetery or the bridge or some deserted place.

He really didn’t want to do this in his childhood bedroom…hell, his kids would hear the gunshot…but if he went downstairs now, someone was going to stop him.

He paced.

The door rattled. “There’s a plate in the fridge with your name on it; Pops saved it for you,” his dad said.

“I’m not hungry.”

The door rattled again. “Then don’t eat. You should be downstairs with your boys.”

“I’m tired; let me sleep.”

The door groaned; his dad obviously trying to open it. “Unlock the door, please, son.”

“It’s not locked; you know these doors don’t lock.”

“Then move the chair, please.” Apparently, his father remembered his childhood stratagems to get some privacy in a 100-year-old house.

“Leave me alone, Dad!”

“I can’t do that, son. You’ve been spending too much time alone as it is.”

“What does it matter? Why does…?” He stopped himself before he could say “Why does anything matter?” That would be too much of a dead giveaway to his thoughts.

“It matters because Linda wouldn’t want you to be spending every minute of your day up here, alone. Your family’s downstairs. They need you.”

“Part of my family’s downstairs, and they don’t need me. They need their mother.”

“Jack and Sean need you to teach them how to be a man, a Reagan.”

He cursed his father out.

The older Reagan sighed. “I love you, Danny. I’m going to go heat up your dinner; please come down soon.”

* * *

He paced.

The grandfather clock struck the hour.

He blinked back tears against the memories: Linda on their wedding day, their fight when he went into the bank and nearly got himself killed, rescuing her when she was kidnapped, rushing down hospital corridors when she was shot….

The grandfather clock struck…the half-hour? How had that happened?

He pushed the barrel of the gun to his head. “I’m sorry, Linda.”

* * *

“Danny, it’s Doc, I’d like to finish our session,” a familiar voice said.

“Doc? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I thought we could talk.”

“Leave me alone!”

“I can’t do that. Open the door so we can talk, please.”

“You’ll try to…”

“Try to what? What are you afraid I’ll do?”

“You’ll try to stop me.”

Damn, now he’d told Doc his plans.

“Danny, do you have your weapon?”

He didn’t say anything. That was a stupid question.

“You know I like to see you when we talk; it makes my job easier, being able to read your body language.”

“Leave me alone!” A sob choked him, and he kicked the chair.

It came loose from where he’d jammed it under the doorknob.

“I have some hot cocoa here for you. It’ll be a lot tastier if you drink it while it’s still hot.”

The door swung open gently.

He backed into the corner, pressed the gun into his chin. “Leave me alone! Don’t come any closer!”

Doc set the cocoa on the dresser, held his hands up. “Danny, this isn’t the solution.”

“So what is? It’s been four months. You haven’t given me a solution.”

“Because I can’t. You’re going to have to learn to live with the grief. That’s what Linda would want: she’d want you to learn how to go on, how to keep living. I want to help you do that.”

“Then leave me the hell alone! That’s how you can help me!”

“I can’t do that, Danny. Linda wouldn’t want you to end it this way.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because you don’t deserve this. Your boys don’t deserve to lose both parents. They need you.”

“No, they need Linda. They’d be just fine without me.”

“I need you to give me your gun, Danny. Please.”

He shook his head.

_John Russell’s face the seconds before he fell. The girl he saved a year later, telling her: “I’ll never forget the look on his face. It was almost as if he was changing his mind, but it was too late_.”

_Linda’s face that last morning…_

He lowered his weapon and handed it to Doc.

Doc put it in his pocket. “Thank you, Danny.”

He nodded, his knees buckling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

A hand on his shoulder made him lash out. “Easy, it’s just Doc. You’re okay. Let it all out, Danny.”

He stayed, crumpled, and wept for Linda and the future he had dreamed of with her.


End file.
